


Delicious

by blahblahwhy



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Post-Classical Hollywood RPF
Genre: Multi, Yuleporn, Yuletide 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwhy/pseuds/blahblahwhy
Summary: “I had both of them that afternoon, and I came to the conclusion that white boys are so delicious.” -- Eartha Kitt





	1. Paul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norah/gifts).



> “But so many things happen in this world. Perhaps this was one of them.” -- Mallory Ortberg, [“Let’s Talk About The Eartha Kitt Threesome With Paul Newman And James Dean,”](http://the-toast.net/2015/10/06/lets-talk-about-the-eartha-kitt-threesome/) The Toast, October 6, 2015.

Paul looked at his new scene partner, who was in turn looking at him like a piece of raw meat.

The other man, dressed in a white tee shirt and black dungarees, was worrying a toothpick on one side of his mouth. Paul had worn a nice Oxford shirt and slacks to his first day of class, and had not regretted the decision until just now. He glanced down at himself, feeling awkwardly out of place.

The man was shorter than Paul, not by much, but enough to notice. He still looked at Paul with hooded eyes, tilting his chin up a bit.

He was young, younger than Paul by about a half decade, and Paul could tell that he was young enough to have missed the war. Lucky. His arms were thin, but strong, and his hair was coiffed with a casualness that Paul was willing to bet he worked at.

Paul licked his lips and offered his hand. As the newest student at the Actor’s Studio, he figured, it was up to him to be polite enough for the both of them. “I’m Paul,” he said, trying on his winningest smile.

They were standing alone in a tiny room furnished with a single table. It was Paul’s first day, and he had no idea where to even start. He was hoping his scene partner would have ideas, could guide him through the process… something. Anything. Instead, he was standing like an idiot with his hand extended, ready to shake, hoping his scene partner had the common courtesy to shake it.

The moment stretched on, and Paul glanced down at his hand, then back up at the man, willing him to shake.

The other man lipped the toothpick to the corner of his mouth and gave Paul a guarded half smile. “I’m James,” he said, and finally shook his hand, stuffing it back in his pocket as soon as it was over.

His voice was gruff and thrilling. Paul could feel his eyes widen, and hoped it wasn’t too obvious. They stood in silence for a few more moments. James was apparently willing to just wait this one out, hands in his pockets, chewing his toothpick. He was the picture of nonchalance.

If Paul turned around and walked away right now, maybe James would just stand here forever. But walking away would mean, well, walking away from this man, and that seemed like a very bad idea.

“Well, James,” Paul said, raising his eyebrows at him, “it’s up to us to come up with an original scene to do in front of the class in an hour. D’you have any ideas?”

James continued to stare back at him. Paul could feel his own forehead creasing in consternation, out to ruin his air of affability, and willed it to smooth out. Maybe this was the point of acting class: it taught you how to stay calm around frustrating people like James.

“How about… I’m an injured football player, and you’re the coach that wants to take me out of the game?” Paul suggested. “We can argue about whether or not I can play.” He didn’t mention just how much he was drawing from real life and an actual argument with his high school football coach.

James shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth and smiled that same half smile. “Not football,” he said, and leaned back against the table. He looked Paul up and down, appraisingly.

“How about a love scene?” James asked, though it wasn’t a question. Not really.

If anything, it was a dare.

“Hey pal, slow your roll," Paul said. "Where I come from, we like to work up to things.” He considered for a moment, teetering on the precipice of something big. “Besides, do you really want a bunch of looky-loos for our first kiss?”

James pursed his lips, considering. He plucked the toothpick out of his mouth and walked the three steps over to Paul getting close, too close. Paul’s eyes widened. Well all right, then.

James leaned in, eyes closed, his lips brushing Paul’s gently, so gently, and Paul understood that he was allowing him to decide whether to lean forward or back. Paul’s heart pounded in his chest as he took a deep breath and leaned in, kissing tentatively at first, and then stronger and faster, cupping James's face in one hand and brushing the other against his neck.

James kissed back just as intensely, wrapping his arms up around Paul’s neck and pressing every inch of his body up against Paul's. Paul could feel him beginning to get hard through his dungarees. Him too, huh?

James finally broke the kiss and leaned back, hands on Pauls shoulders, pupils blown wide, that half smile on his lips.

“Baby, we’d set the room on fire,” he said. “Plus, now it’s not our first kiss.”

Paul pulled his head back and raised his eyebrows at him.

“Still no,” he said. “And since we can’t do what we’re good at for this scene, what other ideas do you have?”

James grinned and leaned back against the table, almost sheepish, but with pride shining through.

“What was that you said about a football coach?” he asked.

* * *

As they left the Studio, James looked at Paul and inclined his head, inviting him to follow as he walked up 44th Street to 10th Avenue, and then back down 45th to a convenient alley.

Paul was almost surprised that James seemed so practiced at this. It wasn’t as though he was a blushing virgin (he’d played sports all his life, and he was no stranger to locker room trysts), but he did have a clear idea about how these things ought to go, and on his knees in a dirty alley next to a dumpster was not exactly his ideal.

Well, there was a first time for everything, he thought to himself, and he was nothing if not game. He knelt, dirty alley and all, and grinned up at James as he unbuttoned his pants.

“D’you have to look at me?” James asked, leaning up against the wall.

Paul rubbed his cheek against James’s cock, but kept his eyes on James's face.

“Yes,” he said, taking the head of his cock into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the tip.

“It’s unnerving is all,” James said, and then shuddered as Paul moved his lips slowly down his shaft and cupped his balls.

Paul made a happy little noise, pleased at the reaction he was getting, and began to suck in earnest, using one hand to stroke in time with his mouth while the other gripped Jame’s hip, drawing out soft moans from his pouty lips.

James came with a small cry, and Paul swallowed it up, smiling up at James.

“Gimme a second and I’ll…” James began, but Paul held up his hand. 

“Like I said,” he said, inclining his head at James, “where I’m from we like to work up to things. Dinner tomorrow?”

James laughed in surprise, and nodded.

Paul smiled to himself all the way home.


	2. James

The first time James saw Miss Eartha Kitt, she was up on stage, where she belonged. Her tiny frame extended upward and outward into an enormous presence as she danced her way across the stage. She was one single member of a whole troupe of dancers, all skilled for sure, but she may as well have been the only person on the stage.

James watched, mouth open, enraptured. The way she moved, she could hold an entire audience in her hand. She could make them love her with a gesture, a look. She made him love her without even trying.

He needed that. He needed her.

After the show he waited outside for her to leave the theater, and didn’t care how strange that may be. He stood under a light on the building across the alley, smoking a cigarette, looking for patterns in his breath, finding the dancers’ bodies in the slowly drifting tendrils.

The dancers left, one-by-one, each looking curiously at the man in the leather jacket across the street. He turned his collar up against their stares. He was almost dressed too warmly, but he preferred the thin sheen of sweat to the relative nudity of his white tee shirt.

Finally, she came out of the building, hair pinned up perfectly. She took quick strides that seemed too long for her small frame, but she her gait was balanced, controlled. It was now or never.

He took a few galloping steps to catch up, and she glared at him over her shoulder, warning him away. He decided not to take the warning.

“Miss Kitt? Are you…” he began.

She whirled around, all movement and energy, and placed her palm strongly against his sternum, simultaneously warning him away and warming him to the bone. The back of his neck began to sweat in earnest.

“Of course I am Miss Eartha Kitt,” she said, in her drawling, purring tone. “Who the hell are you, and what on earth are you thinking of, confronting me in a dark alley?”

“I’m…” he had a moment of weakness. Who was he and what business did he have here? How could he communicate that he wasn’t a threat, that he just wanted to learn how to move like that?

“I’m James,” he said, glancing back and forth between her hand and her face. “I’m an actor.”

“Of course you are, honey,” she purred, her voice dripping with condescension.

He wasn’t used to not having the upper hand in a conversation. He was aware of his effect on people, men and women, and he used it to his best advantage. He was used to meeting someone’s eyes, gazing at their lips, and being able to wind them around his finger. He’d understood how to use sex to get what he wanted at an early age, how to exploit their desire to his best advantage. He could meet a rich man’s eyes so he forgot his wife or lover, he could buy himself a month’s worth of rent with an inclination of his head.

But in Miss Kitt it seemed he had met his match. She only blinked, slowly, at his attempt to gain the upper hand with an eyebrow quirk and a subtle change in his stance. It was clear she was unswayed by his allure.

It made him want to learn all the more. He needed what she had; what he had paled in comparison.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asked coyly, watching him open and close his mouth as he tried to come up with what to say next. She withdrew her hand from his chest and chucked his chin.

“Can you teach me?” he blurted out. “Can you teach me to move like you? To dance like you do? I need… I need to be able to do that, to do it like you do.”

“Baby boy, there are better ways to get dance lessons than confronting a single woman in an alley at midnight,” she said.

“I don’t want them, I want you,” he said, and she sighed.

She took a paper out of her purse and scribbled an address down.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “After 2. Meet me at the studio, and we’ll see what we’ve got.”

James took the paper, nodding dumbly.

“I’ll be there,” he stammered. 

* * *

He entered the studio at exactly 2pm, wearing the wrong clothes and feeling like a heel all over again. The studio was hidden, tucked away in a basement, behind a laundromat. It was a simple space; the sparse room had a wooden floor, a wall of mirrors, a barre, and very little else. He stood just inside the door, wondering whether or not he should take his shoes off. 

“Hello,” Miss Eartha said, sweeping into the room. She was dressed in white tights and an Oxford shirt, belted at the waist. She wore no shoes.

“Hi,” he said dumbly, balling his fists in his pockets.

“I thought you might not come, after all that,” Eartha said, approaching him.

She placed her index finger under his chin and pressed up, forcing him to stop slouching quite so badly. She looked up at him then, from under her eyelashes.

“That’s better,” she said. “Look how tall you are, Jamie.”

She put her hands on his shoulders, palms laid flat against them, and slowly pushed them back and up.

He had to take his hands out of his pockets.

Looking satisfied with his posture for the time being, she led him into the center of the studio and began to lead him through the motions of stretching. He was remarkably inflexible.

About a half an hour later, just as James was beginning to feel a kinship with his hamstrings he’d never before known, the bell over the door rang. First one, then another, and then a half dozen people began to filter in, take their shoes off, and join in the stretching.

James looked at Eartha quizzically. Who were all these people?

She looked back at him with an equally puzzled expression. James suddenly understood in a flash: she was teaching a dance class, and after his one-on-one introduction, he would be expected to join in.

He felt suddenly sheepish. Of course she wasn’t giving him private dance lessons for free. He may be used to getting things for free simply on the basis of his good looks and charisma, but he remembered her face and tone of voice last night when he had tried it with her.

Eartha — but no, that sounded wrong,  _Miss Eartha_ , he corrected himself — would not be swayed by his charm. He was nothing special to her, nor she to him.

Except she was.

He tried during class, he really did. He tried to press his shoulders back, like she said, to open his chest and bring strength to his frame. He tried to sink into his hips, to use his center, to lift from within. And yet, watching himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel _wrong —_ self conscious and awkward, all elbows and knees. He hadn’t felt like that since he was fifteen.

Mercifully, after an hour of struggling and feeling like he was about to topple over, the class ended. He waded through the cluster of cheerful women to put his shoes back on. Miss Eartha looked over at him and motioned that he should stay.

He slumped down on the wall and got out his lighter, flicking it open and shut, on and off, until the last of the cheerful women had gone.

“Do you drink coffee, Jamie?” she asked.

“Uh, um, yes,” he stammered out.

“Good.” She slipped her shoes on and began walking out of the studio. He scrambled to get up and follow.

She was waiting for him by the front door. Of course, she had to lock the studio.

She took his arm and led him down to a coffee shop down the street. They ordered and sat outside. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and pulled two of them out. He lifted both to his lips and lit them, then offered one to her. She took it and held it delicately for a moment before taking a drag.

Then she looked at him, really looked at him.

“Jamie,” she said, and he suddenly felt like a sheepish kid. He could tell the jig was up. Somehow she knew everything about him, every single thing he tried to hide. He slumped his shoulders, bringing everything closer in, and hung his head. He took a deep breath and stared intently down at his coffee, blinking fast.

She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Jamie, you and me. We are the same,” she said.

He looked up, not comprehending.

“The world hurts people sometimes. People hurt people sometimes. We come from places where people like them hurt people like us.”

James opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her other hand to silence him.

“Don’t bother. I can see it in the way you hold yourself.” She gestured at him. “Look at you now, shoulders collapsed, protecting your heart. Trying to fly under the radar. And the worst of it? You are ashamed.”

James sat up a little straighter in his chair, trying to prove her wrong.

“Listen, Jamie,” she said. “The world takes people like you and like me and it chews us up and spits us out. It tries to tell us that we aren’t worth a dime, that people like us shouldn’t be allowed to do the things that we want to do. That we need to do. So we develop a thick skin. We get strong, we stay stubborn. We stay ourselves, for better or for worse.”

She took a sip of her coffee, and gazed at him. He felt like she was reading his face. He gave her a small, sad smile.

James looked down at his hands again. He tried to collect his thoughts. How could he tell her how hard it was to be a person sometimes, how sometimes he didn’t feel like a human but instead like a pillar of flame that had been sewn up in a man’s skin. Sometimes he felt like a monster, or like a piece of meat, or like a commodity to be bought and sold to the highest bidder. He felt like the ocean was inside of him, inside his rib cage, and it was a stormy sea, and sometimes the waves wouldn’t stop crashing.

He’d become an actor to be someone else sometimes. Someone who wasn’t mistreated, someone who was loved. But sometimes, he became too much of someone else and lost sight of himself.

He blinked hard, and swallowed, and started to pull his hand away from hers. She only gripped it tighter.

“We must use it all. All the pain we have endured at the hands of people who said they loved us. We can take that and turn it beautiful.”

“How?” James asked, quietly.

She gestured at him, at herself, and at the city all around them, managing to capture this exact moment of existence everywhere with a simple wave of her arm.

"How?" she scoffed. "We make art, Jamie. We make art and damn all the rest."


	3. Eartha

Eartha had been giving Jamie dance lessons for a couple of months when he asked her something unusual.

“Miss Eartha?” he said, “I have a… well, he’s a friend,” Jamie’s eyes clouded, and Eartha knew this “friend” was a lot more than that.

“Oh?” she asked, curling the word around in her mouth.

“Yeah, he’s an actor too. Do you think… do you think he could come learn dancing, too?”

“Sure, baby,” she said.

A few days later, she heard the door of the studio open and a male voice. She called out a greeting to Jamie, and pulled on a silk robe over her leotard. She strode out into the studio and stopped short. Jamie had brought his friend, and what a friend he was.

“ _Two_ white boys?” she said, looking from Jamie to his friend and back again. She smiled to herself and began walking toward them, crossing her feet one in front of the other in a walk designed to beguile.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, putting a hand on this new man's shoulder and circling him to get a better view. She dragged her hand across his upper back and he suppressed a shiver. He was wearing an Oxford shirt and slacks, hardly appropriate for dancing. Jamie’s tee shirt and dungarees were a bit more appropriate, but not by much.

She suppressed a sigh. He never quite had learned how to dress for class.

“Jamie, what have you brought me?” She was playing a bit, stepping carefully around Paul, feeling out the electricity coursing between them.

“Miss Eartha, this is my friend Paul,” Jamie said. “The one I told you about.”

“Paul Newman,” Paul said, offering his hand for a solid shake. His face was the kind that lit up when he was happy, and he seemed like he was happy all the time.

“Well aren’t you as charmed as you are charming?” she asked, laying her hand gracefully in his and allowing it to be pulled up into a kiss.

“Yes ma’am, I feel very lucky to be here.”

“Well then,” she said, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

What he had were pants that were far too tight for the kind of stretching she wanted him to do. Not five minutes after they’d begun to limber up before it became clear that they were a hinderance. The shirt wasn’t much better, buttons straining as he whirled his shoulders in circles.

“There’s nothing for it,” she said, feigning a mournful tone. “The pants and shirt must come off.”

Paul’s eyes widened, and he looked to Jamie for a reaction. Jamie smiled his slow, smirking smile, and inclined his head as though to say, “Go on, then.”

“Jamie, he is our guest,” Eartha said. “It’s only fair if you take your pants and shirt off as well.”

Jamie boggled at her, briefly, then grinned like the devil. “Well, isn’t this swell. The both of us in our skivvies and you fully dressed.”

Eartha gave a theatrical sigh, and untied her silk robe. She made a big production of taking it off, shrugging first one shoulder, then the other, looking over her shoulder and rolling her eyes at the boys, who weren’t paying her any mind. Didn’t they care that she was treating them to half a strip-tease? There were men on this earth who had offered her diamonds for the honor.

Paul took his shirt off carefully, one button at a time, and hung it gently on a hook by the door. He unbuttoned his slacks and hung them underneath his shirt, then stood, slightly embarrassed, in his socks, undershirt, and boxers.

Jamie, on the other hand, wrestled himself out of his shirt with both hands. It was a miracle the fabric didn’t rip. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt, of course, and his torso stretched and flexed as he crumpled his shirt and tossed it aside. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and froze.

He gazed up at them with eyes like saucers.

“I’m not wearing any underwear,” he said.

Eartha and Paul glanced at each other, suppressing smiles. When they made eye contact, they burst out laughing.

“Go on, then!” Paul said between gales of laughter.

Eartha chuckled. This was going to be _fun_.

They started off with some light stretching, and some work at the barre, just as normal. Jamie was very embarrassed, both sets of cheeks burning, but trying desperately not to show it. Paul could barely take his eyes off Jamie’s ass as they did leg lifts. Even so, Eartha caught him looking at her figure appreciatively a couple of times when he thought she couldn't see.

“Well now, my boys, are you feeling limber?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Paul answered.

Jamie gave a half-hearted smirk, but didn’t meet her eyes.

“Let us test your mettle, then, with some lifts,” she said.

“Oh, like weightlifting?” Paul asked, looking around for hidden dumbbells.

Eartha laughed.

“No, my beautiful, stupid boy. Dance lifts.” She beckoned him over with a crook of her finger, and stood them both facing the mirror. She was in front, standing more than a full head shorter, with only a few inches of air separating their bodies. She was close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Place your hands between my waist and my hips, like so,” she said, wrapping her hands on top of his for a minor readjustment. “On three, lift me up into the air, raising your hands to your shoulder height,” she instructed. “One, two…”

On three, Paul lifted. She tensed her body, strengthening her core, and Paul lifted her out of the air like she weighed nothing. It was a little like flying. In fact, with just a little cooperation from Paul, she could perch on his shoulder if she wanted, like a pirate’s parrot.

The thought made her giggle a little.

“Am I tickling you?” Paul asked, gently setting her down.

“No, Blackbeard,” she said.

“What?” asked Paul.

“Never mind!” she sang, and beckoned for Jamie, who was watching in amusement.

“Now you, Jamie,” she said, and Jamie moved to place his hands at her waist.

“No, no, no,” she said. “You’re to be the one who flies this time.”

Both men looked at her for a second, before looking at each other. Paul’s face was lit up by his goofy smile, while Jamie looked a little troubled.

“I weigh a lot more than you do,” he said.

“That matters less than you think,” Eartha said. “Maintain strength in your core and get your legs out of the way. You must aid in the lift off with the lightest of leaps, and then keep yourself together on your own. If you go limp, you will fall like a bag of wet cement, and I will not be blamed for it.”

Paul raised his eyebrows at Jamie as though to ask permission to touch his bare skin. Jamie sighed and assumed the position in front of Paul. Paul’s blew into his hands and rubbed them together, warming them up, then reached out and tentatively took hold of Jamie's sides. Eartha could see Jamie watching his every move intently in the mirror.

With a one, two, three, Jamie took flight and became the bird, smiling unselfconsciously despite himself.

They made quite the picture, these two boys. Jamie, naked and unabashed for the first time since taking off his dungarees, with arms extended back and chest proud and wide, a glowing beauty. He looked for just a moment like the Winged Victory of Samothrace, moments from taking flight. And then there was Paul, whose strength was too often masked by his lightness of being, in this moment capturing the intersection of power and light.

Once Paul had set Jamie down, he looked over at Eartha.

“Is it my turn to be lifted?” he asked.

Eartha tapped at her chin. “Nearly,” she said, thinking. She came to a decision.

“Jamie, lay down here, flat on your back, knees bent” she said, tapping the floor with her foot. He did so, flushing anew.

She knelt down and stroked his face. “You’re doing just fine, honey,” she said, and he leaned up on his elbows. He wasn’t smiling yet, but he looked more at ease. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then rose to face Paul.

“You, stand here,” she said to Paul, indicating the space on the floor directly in front of Jamie’s feet.

“Both of you,” she said, “clasp hands. Jamie, put your feet here, against Paul’s hips.”

They did as they were told, interlocking their fingers. Jamie’s feet rested against Paul’s hips, and Eartha smiled to see that both of them looked a bit more, well, excited, than they had mere moments ago. Jamie’s cock had nowhere to hide, lengthening of its own accord, and though Paul had a layer of fabric between his cock and the outside world, his boxers did little to hide his erection.

“I’m liable to topple over like this,” Paul said, straining to remain vertical as Jamie laid back flat, arms outstretched.

“That’s the point,” Eartha said. “But topple like a proud tree. Keep yourself strong. Jamie, lift your legs and pull your hands down.”

They did, and ended up with Jamie’s legs extended and Paul lying atop his feet, straight as a board.

“Mmmmm, that’s a pretty picture,” Eartha said, half unwittingly.

Jamie turned tomato red, which made Paul laugh, which compromised his balance and core strength, and he indeed toppled, though not very much like a tree, onto Jamie.

Paul’s laughter was contagious, and soon Eartha and Jamie both joined in, the latter from under a tangle of limbs.

“You should give him a kiss in apology, Paulie,” Eartha said sitting down cross-legged next to them. Paul looked up at her inquiringly. “He held you up so well and still you lost your balance.”

“Do as the lady says,” Jamie said, looking at Paul’s lips.

Paul licked them, slowly. “If she insists,” he said, and kissed Jamie long and hard.

“It’s not very fair of you to remain nearly fully dressed,” Eartha said to Paul, hooking a finger in the collar of his undershirt and looking significantly at his boxers.

“Yes ma’am,” Paul said, and pulled off his shirt and boxers and tossed them aside. “May I kiss him again?”

“Of course,” Eartha said.

Paul kissed Jamie again, this time climbing on top and lowering his hips to grind against Jamie’s.

Eartha moved in a little closer, and pulled Paul’s face away from Jamie’s.

“Why don’t you share that sugar, sugar?” she asked, and Paul eagerly leaned in to kiss her as well. Jamie’s eyes flashed a little jealously, and she leaned down to give him a lingering, sweet kiss. One of his hands traveled up to her lower back and began to rub small circles there.

“Miss Eartha?” he asked, eyes full of innocence. “You’re still wearing clothes.”

“And what,” she asked, purring her words out, “do you intend to do about that?”

“Are you up for another lift, Jimmy?” Paul asked. “You get her up, I’ll do the work,” he said.

At first it worked beautifully. She and Jamie laced fingers, and he used his feet to elevate her hips. She let go of his hands as Paul peeled the leotard off her shoulders and down her breasts. In trying to get it off around her hips, however, he managed to shove her a little too far one direction, which broke Jamie’s concentration, which sent her toppling just like Paul.

At the last minute, she grabbed for Paul’s waist and brought him down as well. They fell in a pile like three young puppies, all movement and laughter.

“I think I’ll manage the rest on my own, thanks,” she said, rising to sitting. Jamie put his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. His dick followed his line of sight almost perfectly. “Paul, why don’t you be a dear and give Jamie what he wants?” she asked, waving her hand at his erect member.

Paul grinned and immediately leaned over to lick Jamie’s shaft. Jamie’s eyes rolled back in his head just a bit and his hips shuddered. He was already close to coming apart.

Paul shifted around to kneel between Jamie’s legs, taking Jamie’s full length in his mouth. His head bobbed up and down as Jamie sucked a deep breath through his teeth.

Eartha, still half dressed, crawled over to give Jamie a kiss. He kissed her like she was air and he was suffocating. He brought one hand up to the back of her neck as the other cupped her breast. She leaned into him, and he began teasing her nipples with both hands, rubbing his thumbs in small circles.

Too soon, too soon, he had to stop and bite his wrist to keep from crying out.

“Oh, God, Paul,” he gasped. “I’m going to come.”

Paul hummed an affirmative note and sucked even harder. Jamie let out a guttural grunt and came, shock waves tremoring through his body.

Paul swallowed it down and smiled like the cat that got the cream. Jamie panted for a few moments before he found the strength to speak.

“Paul’s good with his mouth,” he said between breaths. “Paul, why don’t you show her how good you are with your mouth?”

Paul chuckled a little self consciously and looked over at Eartha with puppy dog eyes.

“You’re still a little dressed,” he said.

Eartha looked down, feigning surprise.

“So I am,” she said. “See to that, will you?”

Paul gently wrapped his fingers around the leotard that was bunched up around her waist, and began to pull. Instead of the fabric sliding off her body, though, she felt herself begin to slide toward him. She struck a pose, legs bent and toes pointed, arms above her head arranged in fifth position, and allowed herself to be pulled all the way in. Paul saw what she was doing and began chuckling.

Instead of scooting back or trying to gain any leverage, he laid down and pulled her all the way to his body. One of her legs ended up poised over his right shoulder and one laid across his chest. Paul was nearly helpless, chuckling to himself, and Eartha finally let herself laugh -- really laugh -- loud and long.

Jamie, still a little dazed, crawled over to see what all the commotion was about.

Paul managed to pull her leotard off all the way by pulling her on top of his chest and shifting her back and forth. He finally did it and flung the offending garment away, raising his hands in victory.

“Jamie said you were good with your mouth,” Eartha said.

Paul stretched his arms up and clasped them behind his head, hooking her knees in with his elbows. He nodded up at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Care to demonstrate?” she asked, and shifted forward, holding the barre overhead for support. She settled her pussy gently on his face, rocking slightly to get into position. He licked up eagerly into her, and she let out a little squeal, surprised at the deftness of his tongue despite herself.

He reached up and held her hips in place, helping to steady her. He let out an unexpected groan, and she glanced back to see Jamie stroking Paul’s cock in long, languid movements.

She ground down a little to redirect his attention back to her, and he happily obliged, swirling his tongue around her clit in beguiling circles. She began to rock gently, back and forth, encouraging him to stroke her longer, faster, and harder.

She let one hand fall from the barre and it found Jamie’s free hand. She clasped it, and the added electricity made her moan, which set both of them off. Soon they were all gasping and moaning flush with the joy of being young and alive.

Eartha felt herself building to a fever pitch, felt the lust pooling in her belly. She fucked harder, and Paul licked up eagerly, using his entire mouth to caress her. She came first in a shattering cry, and Paul followed immediately after, though his cry was muffled.

Jamie, good boy that he was, hopped up and helped her climb off Paul’s shoulders. Paul, blissed out, spread both arms and beckoned them in. She and Jamie snuggled down into his warm embrace.

Urgency gone, the three of them spent the rest of the day in one another’s embrace, lazily kissing, stroking, sucking, nuzzling, petting, and luxuriating in the feeling of skin on skin, of shared breaths. They glorified each other's bodies and each gave at least as much pleasure as they received.

It was delicious.


End file.
